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<h3 id="id01079" style="margin-top: 3em"> AFTER LONG GRIEF</h3>
<p id="id01080"> There is a place hung o'er of summer boughs<br/>
And dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps;<br/>
Where water flows, within whose lazy deeps,<br/>
Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse,<br/>
The minnows twinkle; where the bells of cows<br/>
Tinkle the stillness; and the bobwhite keeps<br/>
Calling from meadows where the reaper reaps,<br/>
And children's laughter haunts an oldtime house:<br/>
A place where life wears ever an honest smell<br/>
Of hay and honey, sun and elder-bloom,—<br/>
Like some sweet, simple girl,—within her hair;<br/>
Where, with our love for comrade, we may dwell<br/>
Far from the city's strife, whose cares consume.—<br/>
Oh, take my hand and let me lead you there.<br/></p>
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